Pages of the Past
by ctj
Summary: Why are psychopaths insane? It's because they have the past to support their decisions. Mike Morningstar's back story, co-written by Ms. Indecisive, R&R.
1. Prologue

**.:Pages of the Past:.**

_~Prologue~_

Like water slipping through a silver creek, Mike Morningstar's fingers danced lightly over the ivory keys.

_Don't mess up._

He didn't need to look at the music. He didn't need to hear it. He could feel its sorrow, its grief, its mourning in his blood as the tune surrounded him.

He could feel his heart pounding as he broke into sweat. That same part… it was approaching.

_Don't mess up._

Raised to be perfect.

_Don't mess up._

Raised without love.

_Don't mess up._

Raised in a prison by an abusive stepfather.

_Don't mess up._

A prison made of gold.

_Mess up, and it's over._

As if by instinct, Mike came to the only section of Für Elise that he could never play correctly. He knew how to play it; he knew the notes, he knew the rhythm, he knew which finger went where. Cover this key, keep the dynamics at the level they belong at, move the finger one key over and-

His mother's face flashed in his head. Her stern, cunning grey eyes watched him from inside his mind, and he saw past the piano and straight into his past.

And he hit the wrong note, as he did every night.

He screamed out in agony and rage. He seethed with anger as silence filled the hall, save the sound of Mike swearing under his breath.

A wispy, ghost-like hand made its way in front of his face. His gaze traveled up the arm and into the face of the wisp.

"F-Ferris?" he asked shakily.

"I am here to turn the page," whispered the ghost. He took hold of the second page of Für Elise and went to turn it, but just as the contents of the third page were coming into view, the memory vanished and Mike was alone once more.

"Ferris…" he whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

He glanced back at the page. It had never been turned.

"Edric… Damn you, Edric," he repeated over and over, his tears falling ceaselessly onto the keys that rested unmoving, silent beneath his trembling fingers.

**Author's Comment: Well, this is what you get when you watch **_**Trade Off **_**one too many times. I (Colleen) will be writing this along with my friend Molly. We'll update whenever possible- it will be Mike Morningstar's (tragic) back story.**

**Co-Author's Comment: WHY HELLO THERE. I'm Molly. I enjoy noodles! … Yeah so we REAALLLLLYYYY like Mike Morningstar. Like…A LOT. He is MAN-PRETTY. If you want to know who I am, I am Ms. Indecisive on fanfiction. Yeah all of my stories suck so don't read them. BUT THIS ONE IS GOLD. However, all that glitters…HAHAHAHA**


	2. One

**~Pages of the Past~**

**Chapter One**

"Not now, Mikey."

"But _Dad_," Mike interjected. "You _promised_."

"I know I promised," his dad replied, displaying a good-humored grin. He looked at his son, the small blond boy in the baseball jersey with a mitt on his right hand and a baseball in his left. He loved his son so very, very much. Mike felt the same toward his father.

"We'll have a catch when I get home, Sport," his father said, ruffling his hair. "I won't be gone long- just some Plumber's business."

Mike sighed and looked at his feet. "_Promise _me, Dad. _Promise_."

His father knelt down and placed a strong hand on his son's shoulder. "I promise, Mikey. I'll come back, and when I do, we'll have a catch." He pulled Mike into an embrace.

"Come back soon," pleaded Mike into his father's shoulder. "I don't like it when you're gone."

"I will always be here for you, Sport. Always."

"_Dead_!"

"I'm sorry, son."

"But… Mr. Tennyson…"

Mike looked at the old man pleadingly, tears brimming in the corners of his blue eyes.

"What do you mean, Mr. Tennyson?"

"Your father is gone, son. He won't be coming back."

"Yes he will. Yes he will!" exclaimed Mike, his face contorting into an expression of rage. "Don't lie! He will!"

Max Tennyson's face hardened.

Mike's mouth went agape. "You're a liar!" he exclaimed, kicking the old man. "You're a lying old bugger!" He kicked him again.

"Oof- Mike! Son, stop- ow!"

"Michael!"

A tall blond woman approached the two. She was twice the height of her five year old son, wearing heels and a tight black dress. She put one hand on her hip.

"My husband is certainly dead, then?"

"No!" Mike cried again, grabbing his mother's hand and holding it tightly.

"Yes." His mother shook off his hand.

"He is," sighed Max, bending his head toward the ground. "He was a good man."

Mike's face was full of hurt. He began to cry again. "Liar," he whispered again, and he began to look around the Landing Port frantically for his father. He saw the spaceship and ran away from Max and his mother to reach it, running up the Boarding Ramp and into the vessel. The control room was empty, and he proceeded to rush through all of the other rooms of his father's ship. Eventually, he reached the very back room.

"Dad!" he exclaimed as he saw his parent at the other end of the room. He sighed in relief and sprinted to his father's side, taking hold of his hand. His cold hand. His cold, stiff hand.

Then he saw his face. Blank, staring, empty. The mouth drawn in a tight line, the eyes filled with trauma at the final sight they beheld, and the rest of the body limp and lifeless.

And the hands. Cold and stiff.

"DAD!" Mike exclaimed, shaking his father. "Dad, wake up! DAD, WAKE UP!"

"He's dead, son."

"DON'T CALL ME SON!" cried Mike. "YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!" He began to scream and kick the man in front of him, Max, the man who called him Son even though he wasn't.

"Michael, no!" shouted his mother, prying him off of the elder man.

"It's okay," said Max. "Let him be."

Mike pulled away and became quite limp, swaying back and forth.

"I'm sorry, son."

Mike nodded weakly, and he began to cry.

"All I wanted to do was have a catch."

Max pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Mike.

"What is it?"

Max smiled slightly. "This was your father's Plumber's Badge. He wanted you to have it once you were old enough, but due to the present circumstances…"

Mike brushed it off and tried to find truth in the situation. He was only five, and though he told himself he didn't know what was going on, deep down, he understood.

His father was gone forever. Now, all he had was his mother.

He studied the badge, shining with the Intergalactic Symbol of Peace, and would have found it remarkably beautiful if he did not feel so alone.

-_OMG my birthday ends in one minute!—_

"You should go home," Max advised. "I think he needs time to think it over."

"I don't need time. I need my dad."

Max looked at the young boy sadly. "I know," he finally said.

A young, dark haired man entered the room holding a few papers in his hands.

"This should do it for the paperwork," he said. "The medical fee has been covered by your insurance, so if you would just sign here, that would do nicely."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Max, smiling. The doctor nodded curtly and handed the papers swiftly to Stella, who graced them with her loopy signature.

Mike frowned, unhappy with the way that the doctor slipped sly glances towards Stella every now and then. Foolish old Max didn't notice, he just smiled like a blind idiot with a piñata blurring his vision. But Mike noticed the doctor's brown eyes studying his mother as she signed the papers, and he was greatly bothered and suddenly uncomfortable.

Stella finished signing and handed the papers back to the doctor.

"Thank you, Mr. Baxton."

"My pleasure, Stella."

Mike's stomach churned unpleasantly at Mr. Baxton's oily manner, but before he could put his vehemence into action, he was being dragged away from his father for the last time.

. . . . .

Mike wasn't allowed to attend the funeral or the burial, but his mother did have the mourners come back to the house for lunch. It was fairly nice weather, so the lunch was held outside. Mike sat in the corner in his shirt and tie, his hair slicked back. It was a new style- he'd never had his hair done like this before, but his mother had insisted it look nice. She didn't seem to notice (or at least she didn't comment) on the one stray lock that fell on his forehead.

His mother was nearby, talking with one of the mourners.

"…shame that he had to die so young, and right as your son was starting school, too."

"Yes," said Stella. "We were going to send him to Bellwood School for Boys, but now I'm thinking of something even higher level… St. James' Academy, or maybe Cornerstone…"

"They both sound like decent schools. I'll be sending my son to public school, of course."

"And how old is he again, Devin?"

"He'll be turning five this summer…"

They continued to talk, but at this point Mike had zoned out and directed his attention elsewhere.

As the company strolled about and chatted, talking about the deceased, the family, and the weather, Mike sat alone and looked up at the fair-weather clouds dotting the sky.

A sudden shadow blocked out the sun as something- somebody- leaned over Mike. Mike found himself looking suddenly into a long face with a smattering of black hair on top.

"What are you staring at?" asked the boy.

"You," answered Mike. The boy backed away and eyed Mike suspiciously.

"You look like a Barbie doll," he finally decided.

"You look like a street bum," Mike replied, observing that the kid (who couldn't have been any older than five years) was missing one of his front teeth.

"Funny," said the boy, grimacing. He paused, and then held out his hand. "I'm Kevin," he claimed, and pointed to the man speaking with Stella. "That's my dad."

Mike didn't like the boy. His hair and eyes reminded him of Mr. Baxton's, and his manner was generally unlikable.

"I'm Michael," said Mike, and he reached out and grasped Kevin's hand.

Kevin pulled away quickly. "Ow! What'd you do that for?"

"Do what?" asked Mike.

"You pinched me!"

"No I didn't."

"You must have! Look at my palm, it's all red!"

There was no denying it- Kevin's palm was very red in the center.

"Jerk," said Kevin, and he walked away angrily.

"But I didn't…" whispered Mike to himself. He glanced at his hand in confusion just in time to see what appeared to be miniscule teeth sink back into the skin.

But how…?

They hadn't even left a blemish…

Had it been an illusion? Surely not, because Kevin and his father were now shooting dirty looks at the Morningstars as they left the party and drove off.

They wouldn't meet again for eleven years.


	3. Two

**.:Pages of the Past:.**

**Chapter Two**

"Getting married?" cried Mike, at the age of 6. Stella Morningstar, his mother, narrowed her heavily mascara coated eyes.

"Do you have a comment you would like to share?" inquired Stella. Mike nodded vigorously and tried to regain his composure. He failed.

"Mother, I haven't met him! How could you do this to me?" he shouted. "What about Dad? He wouldn't want this to happen! He loves you!"

"Michael, he's dead."

Mike frowned, his expression hurt. "But he… but I… I don't even know the man!"

"Yes you do," replied his mother. "He was here the other night."

Mike's eyes widened. "The brunette man! With the purple shirt?"

"Yes," she replied coolly. "He'll be back tonight for supper."

"No!" shouted the young yet troubled boy. "I don't want him to come!"

"And why is that?" demanded Stella. Mike thought back…

"Um… He is-he is-I-I just don't want him to come!" he whined. She slammed her hand on the table, forcing him to quiet down.

"Now, that is enough, Michael Murphy Morningstar!" she shouted. "I refuse to acknowledge any abuse against your future father!" Mike trembled at the word abuse.

_Mike entered the house from the backyard, where he had been reading a book. A man was standing at the bottom of the staircase in the entryway. Mike recognized him as the doctor from the day his father…_

"_Excuse me sir." said Mike, tugging on a man's purple shirt. "Does Mother know you're here?" The man ignored him and continued to wait by the stairs._

"_Sir?" he asked, tugging on the shirt again. "Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Sir, you're not paying attention. Are you stupid?"_

_THWACK! _

_Mike felt a great rattling in his head and everything went dark for a couple of seconds. As soon as he regained his senses, he found himself slouched against the wall._

"_Huh?" Mike asked, thoroughly confused. "What happened?" Had the man just struck him?_

"_Buzz off, Twinkle Toes, unless you want it to happen again. I'm here to see your mother."_

"_No!" cried Mike. "I won't let you go near her! You'll hurt her, too!"_

_The man took Mike by the hair on his head and slammed him against the wall, completely mussing Mike's nicely placed hairdo._

"_Please! Let me go!"_

_The man released Mike, and he slid down to the floor, looking at the man with tear-filled eyes. He could feel his heart pounding against his rib, and the stars were still in front of his eyes…_

_Mike got to his hands and knees and scampered away in fright._

"He's not a bad man." assured Ms. Morningstar. "I'm sure you'll come to liking him eventually." She left the table and walked upstairs.

2 months later…. "DAMN THESE RANDOM SLAPPING MONKEYS!"

Weeks had passed, and the Morningstar family

Mike sat in his chair miserably as his mother held hands with the awful Edric Baxton. He looked sharp in his tuxedo with his hair slicked back. His pointed nose and cold dark eyes were watching her steadily. Stella was in an extravagant white ball gown decorated with lace that pooled around her feet. Mike thought that she looked like a beautiful angel.

Mike was in own tuxedo, with his hair slicked back as well. A little lock of his gold hair was left in the front, to add flair. He usually liked dressing up, but today he just felt uncomfortable and overheated.

"Stella, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" asked the preacher. Stella nodded and her bright curls bounced.

"I do."

"Edric, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" asked the preacher. Mike held his hands over his ears in anger.

"I do." said Edric.

"Then, by the power vested in me," said the preacher. Mike burst into tears. "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Mike covered his eyes so he wouldn't be scarred for the rest of life. He wanted to run away, to scream, and to cry some more.

The crowd in the garden got off their chairs and began to clap and cheer as the couple ran down the aisle blissfully. Mike remained in his seat and let the hot tears flow down his face. Two old ladies next to him watched him cry.

"Aw, Colleen, he's crying! He must be so happy for his mother!" The woman with an ugly blue dress on exclaimed. The old woman next to her with coke bottle glasses laughed.

"Oh Molly, he must be so excited for his new life! Now, if I know a thing or two about my son Edric, is that he's a great, rich man! He'll make a great husband!"

Molly cupped her ear. "WHAT?"

"HE'LL MAKE A GREAT HUSBAND!"

"You don't need to yell."

Mike cried harder.

(At the reception…)

Mike sat at the head table glumly, staring at the candle in front of him flicker. The two old ladies, Colleen and Molly, were on either side of him.

They pinched his cheeks and played with his hair. The women talked nonstop, oblivious to the fact that they were annoying him.

"Oh, Colleen, you are SO lucky to have him as a grandson. My grandson's a hippie! A lousy hippie with shaggy hair who plays the guitar at random intervals! He's a little hoodlum!"

"Well, young Michael is your great nephew now, you should be happy! Look how cute he is…" They ruffled his hair and poked his face. Mike twitched.

"Would you please excuse me? I have to use the bathroom," he said, getting up. He walked away as the women started to cluck over how polite he was.

Mike went into the front lobby and sat on the intricately constructed couch. He buried his face into his palms and let out an annoyed grunt.

"Is something the matter?" Mike looked up at the person who was talking to him.

A tall man in his early 70's stood above the distressed boy. He was tall with a well-groomed crop of hair on his head. He was wearing a black suit similar to those on the caterers waiting on the wedding. His eyes were a little squinted, and the skin next to them was folded like he had smiled a lot.

"Are you hiding from those two overbearing ladies? By Jove, I think they went utterly senseless a long time ago. I could tell you an interesting tale about them…"

"Who are you?" asked Mike. The man cleared his throat and smiled lightly.

"My name is Ferris. I'm on the…groom's side…" he replied bitterly. "And you are young Michael, are you not?"

Mike nodded and leaned back on the sofa, his arms spread out.

"I see. It seems that you aren't enjoying yourself. What's the matter, lad?"

"My father," mumbled Mike.

"Oh, Edric? He can be a little… hasty… but he'll do just fine."

"No, not him," said Mike, flopping onto his front side and burying his face in the pillow. "It's my _real _dad. The one that's… well, I just don't think that he would approve of the marriage."

Mike could feel the couch move as Ferris' weight joined him on the cushion.

"Well," said Ferris, "I'm sure that your father … well, he… just say a prayer that it will work out."

Mike groaned and slid onto the floor. He knew that the old man was smiling, even though his eyes were shut. There was something about Ferris that was just so predictable.

"I'll tell you what," said Ferris. "I'll sit out here with you for the rest of the reception, if you promise to smile."

Mike wasn't sure whether he liked Ferris or hated him, and decided he would base all of his smiles on that.

….

The wedding was soon finished, and Mike found himself in his new house. It was grandiose with mahogany beams against the dark walls. Great oak trees shimmered with the warm, orange colors of autumn. Mike descended out of the limousine carrying his suitcase. Tucked safely in his pocket, where it always was, was his father's badge.

He stopped in his tracks to look at the enormous house against the crisp blue sky.

"Come along, Michael," ordered Stella, her arm hooked into Edric's.

"But…"

"Listen to your mother," Edric sneered.

Mike was afraid of Edric, and followed suit.

He dragged his suitcase and entered the house through the front door. It was absolutely huge. Expensive curtains and dark furniture lined the exquisite walls, and Mike knew that Edric must have had a lot of money.

"Welcome home, darling," said Edric.

"Thank you!" exclaimed Mike.

Edric narrowed his eyes. "I was talking to your _mother_."

Stella giggled. "Oh, _Edric_…" she swooned.

"Gross," muttered Mike, and he began to drag his suitcase into the closest room to set it down. He was surprised to find somebody else already inside, his hands all over the furniture.

"_Mother_," he muttered, "who is that man? Why is he touching everything?"

"That," she said, "is the butler. He will do all of your chores for you."

"FERRIS!" cried Edric, marching into the room. The man turned around, and Mike realized who it was. It was Ferris, from the wedding! Wait… he was the butler?

"Y-Yes, Sir?" said Ferris.

"I want you to meet my wife, Stella, and her son, Mickey. You are to do anything and everything that they require. Stella likes to have her clothes ironed regularly and her coat and scarf set out for her whenever she requires it. As for Mark… well, I don't know what the hell he cares about. Just… do anything that Matthew tells you."

And with that, Edric guided Stella out of the room, leaving Mike behind.

"Hello, Master Michael," said Ferris. He smiled.

"Hi, Ferris," said Mike.

"For the record, I am quite sure that Edric knows your name. Why he doesn't use it, I will never know."

Mike shrugged and sat down in the wooden rocking chair. The walls of the room were a warm marigold, the floor was dark yet had a Persian rug spread across it, and the furniture had intricately carved frames. On the other side of the room was a large mahogany secretary with china dishes inside.

It was all so… fancy.

"Perhaps you'd like to see your own room, Master Michael."

Mike's eyes lit up. He'd forgotten about that!

"Okay!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"Follow me, then," said Ferris, and he led Mike through the surrounding rooms. First they went through a library, then the kitchen, and then up a set of winding stairs. Mike followed the butler through a long hallway, turned right, and then started down another hallway. Did the house ever end?

"What's that corridor?" asked Mike, pointing down one that was completely dark and ended in a black metal door, deviating from the normal, heavy wood doors.

"That is your stepfather's study," informed Ferris. "Nobody is allowed in there except for the man of the house himself."

"Does he study medicine in it?" asked Mike.

"If he did, I doubt it would be forbidden."

"But why—"

"Ah, here we are!" said Ferris with cheer, opening a door. It led into a big, bright room with white walls, sunlight streaming in through the arched windows. The floor was wooden, the ceiling was high, and the bed was blue four-poster with blue drapes to add accent. There was other furniture, too- a blue recliner, a vanity mirror, and a tall bookshelf that led to the ceiling. As of now, it was completely empty.

Mike was overcome with excitement, and every bitter thought about living with Edric washed away.

"Hooray!" he exclaimed. "I live in a big house, with a butler to do my chores, and a huge room all for me!"

And with this he dropped his suitcase and ran full speed at the side of the bed, meaning to jump onto it, but he went a little too far and ended up leaping over it and landed on the floor.

"My, my," said Ferris, as Mike pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Aren't we excited? One would almost think that you could fly, Master Michael."

Mike grinned. "Oh, this is wonderful! Did Mother set it up for me? I'm sure she did! I love Mother. Where is she?"

"She and Mr. Baxton are about to leave on their honeymoon, Master Michael."

"What?" said Mike, shocked, and he began to sprint back to the entryway of the house. He reached it just in time to find his mother, changed out of her white wedding gown and into a simpler maroon dress.

"Mother, Mother!" he cried, taking her wrist.

"What do you want?" she replied, prying Mike off.

"I just wanted to say goodbye!" he said.

"Goodbye, Michael," she said, and kissed him on the top of his head. Mike didn't realize how annoyed she sounded when she answered.

Edric opened the door for her and helped her out, and just before he left, Mike said: "Goodbye, Stepfather."

Edric paused. "Goodbye, Malcolm," said Edric.

Mike seared with rage and leapt forward. "My name is MICHAEL! MIKE! MIKEY!" he cried angrily, and tugged on Edric's arm ferociously. Edric reacted by taking his free arm and slapping Mike so hard that he flew backwards and hit the wall. Edric stared coolly, no change in his face.

"Touch me again," he muttered, "and I'll knock your brains about until your own name is a mystery to you. You hear?"

Mike whimpered, but didn't respond.

Edric took Mike by the shoulders and shook him about. "YOU HEAR?"

"Ahh, Yes, Sir!"

"Good," grumbled Edric, and he turned on his heel and left.

"Good riddance," said Mike, but he was still shaken from his confrontation with Edric.

**A/N: I hope this is OK with my co-author, ~Ms. Indecisive. If not, she knows how to contact me... :P Her e-mail is down, so I can't really send the chapter and check it over with her like usual. :)**


	4. Three

**.:Pages of the Past:.  
Chapter Three  
**

Mike was sitting on the winding staircase in the library, his nose buried in a book. 3 months had passed since he had first stepped inside of the house, and December sunshine was streaming in through the frost covered windows. The fire was bustling warmly in the fireplace, snow fell gently outside the window, and Ferris was on the other side of the room, organizing the books onto the shelves.

Mike soon grew restless and rushed to the window, pressing his face against the cool glass. The landscape outside was white and frosty, like a scene from a snow globe.

"Ferris," he said, "I want to go outside."

Ferris turned to face Mike. "Do you, Master Michael?"

"Yes, Ferris. Fetch my jacket, won't you?"

"Of course, Master. But you might want more than a jacket. Do you have a hat and gloves?"

"Yes."

"And a scarf?" continued Ferris.

"A scarf? Why, I don't think I do."

"Oh dear. I suppose that you'll have to do without one, won't you?"

"I suppose so, Ferris," said Mike. "Now, that jacket."

Ferris soon returned with the promised jacket, a furry hat and gloves, and a pair of boots that all belonged to Mike.

"It's been so long since it's snowed, hasn't it, Ferris?"

Ferris smiled and nodded, helping Mike pull on his jacket. "Yes, Master, it's been quite a long time."

"Do you like the snow?"

"Hmm... yes, a bit," said Ferris, as Mike began to button up his jacket and pull on his boots.

"Only a _little_?" cried Mike, shocked. "I love it. Why don't you?"

"A friend of mine isn't able to work when it's cold and snowing," Ferris answered.

"And who is that?" asked Mike, his gloves enclosing his fingers.

"Do you know Antonio?" asked Ferris.

"Yes I do. He's the gardener!"

"Yes, him. If it's too cold outside, the plants won't grow. He doesn't have a job around this time of year, and Mr. Baxton really doesn't do much to help."

"That's quite sad," Mike said, and he pulled on his hat. "Ferris, I'm ready to go outside."

"It seems so, doesn't it?" replied Ferris. "Here, let's go out."

They went to the back door, which Ferris held open for Mike. "Have a good time out there, Master Michael. Your stepfather should be returning home soon."

"Okay!" said Mike, and he skipped out into the snow.

...

Winter was one of Mike's favorite seasons because he was able to build snowmen. He didn't have many friends during the year because Edric didn't allow other children to visit his house, and Mike wasn't permitted to go elsewhere. This kept Mike mainly separated from other kids his age, but, having never known friendship, he didn't mind.

It was this that caused him to delight in imaginary friends and snowmen. When he first went outside that day, he created a snowman taller than him and named it Shad. It had a large walking stick, and Mike made hair out of tree leaves for it. The only thing it was missing was a scarf. Mike smiled at his finished snowman, and then sat down next to it cross-legged.

"It's a pretty day, isn't it, Shad?" he asked.

_Yes, Mikey_, Shad answered. Mike smiled.

"I just feel so bad for poor Antonio. He doesn't get any money and he is poor and cold in the winter."

_Poor Antonio_, Shad said. _Winter is my favorite season! It is frigid and simply delightful._

Mike smiled. "Mr. Baxton hates the winter. His car broke down once and he came home swearing and swearing..."

_You like the winter, _Shad told Mike.

"You're right, Shad, I like it quite a bit."

Mike flopped onto his back and grinned, happy to like something that Edric hated.

"I love you, Shad," said Mike. "You're a great friend. It's too bad that you're going to melt when spring starts."

_I love you too, Mikey. And don't worry, I'll always be here for you..._

In a sudden burst of white, snow flew about in a cloud and landed in a pile. Shad collapsed completely and was left in pieces, his hair scattered about. Mike screamed in fear and backed away. Standing where Shad had been just moments before was Edric, his eyes narrowed and a wooden bat in his hand.

Mike whimpered and bit his lip. He wanted to ask why Edric had done that, but was far too scared to make a sound. The bat in Edric's hand was so _solid_. It could kill him in a heartbeat...

Unless, maybe...

Something suddenly came to mind. Pictures of his real father appeared in his mind, his baseball mitt in hand, a cap on his head...

Maybe Edric was going to, somehow, be the father he had wanted.

"Are we going to play baseball, Papa?"

Edric's eyes suddenly widened, and he sneered. "You think that _I _would do that? Don't make me take this bat to your _head_, kid!"

"But... but..."

He looked around frantically for help, but there was nobody around but Edric and Shad's remains. Then, he looked at Edric.

"You can't! You can't hurt me, you'll get in trouble!"

Edric's nostrils flared. "I can hurt any person I deem appropriate! I don't care if you're young or old, rich or poor—"

"Of course you wouldn't!" screamed Mike. "You just let old Antonio go wherever he wants during the winter! You do nothing to help him! He's poor during the winter, he has no money, and yet you just make him leave! He's _poor_, and you- you—"

"Who told you about Antonio?" cried Edric, his hands gripping the bat even harder.

"Ahh— I—I don't remember, I—"

"Who? Was it Ferris?"

Mike paused. "No, no..."

"TELL ME, YOU MINDLESS CHILD!"

"NO!"

_THWACK_.

"Ouch!" Mike shriveled into the snow, burying his face into its frozen contents. He could feel the wood impact his leg again, and it was as if his very bones were turning to powder, and pain and rage filled him. His brain rattled in his head, and suddenly searing pain filled his entire being.

Mike's heart was pounding in his throat as Edric loomed over him, a menacing glare in his eyes. Then, he spoke in a hollow, vacant whisper.

"You will tell me who has been feeding you information about me, or I will kill you right here and now. It will be easy. Nobody will be around to see it."

"No, no..." Mike said, but his words were barely audible. He wrapped his arms around his head and shrank even further. He felt so small and frightened next to Edric.

"Now, now, Sir," said Ferris, coming out into the snow yard without even a coat. "Let's not be hasty..."

"Don't you tell me what to do, old man!" cried Edric, now turning on Ferris. "You've been telling people things nobody should know... you've been in... in..."

"Edric! Edric? Where have you gone, Dear?"

It was Stella's voice, ringing clearly and happily from inside.

Edric glanced back and forth from Ferris to Mike, and then thrust the bat into Mike's arms. Without further ado, Edric marched into the house to meet Stella.

"Well, he's quite... erm, quite—"

"He's horrid!" Mike exclaimed, getting to his feet and taking the bat in his hand. He went over to a tall fir tree and hit the bat so hard against the trunk that it shattered. "I hate him, I hate him!"

"Master Michael, shush, no—Master, he will hear you—"

But Ferris' words were useless, and Mike was now storming about in the rage that he was in.

"I'll get back at him, Ferris, I'll crush him—"

"Master! Please, you're only 6, don't—no, listen to me, Michael—don't say those things, you and I both have to be patient with him... he's trying to do the right thing."

"No, he's not," said Mike.

"Well... there was nobody there to really teach him what was wrong and right."

Mike took a deep breath and looked up. "You were his butler when he was a boy, then?"

Ferris nodded. "I was with him the day he was born. I served _his _father as well when I was a young man…"

Mike noticed that the butler's eyes got a bit of a vacant look in them, but after a moment, Ferris shook his head and smiled. Mike liked the way that when Ferris smiled, his bushy handlebar mustache tweaked up at the corners and the skin next to his eyes wrinkled.

Sometimes to Mike, Ferris was the best person in the world. At other times, he was a nuisance, a disturbance, somebody that was getting in the way of a normal life for Mike.

Mike was disturbed by the silence that had ensued, and decided to change the subject. "Ferris, when are we going to decorate for Christmas? Mother always decorates for Christmas around this time of year, but now Christmas is only a week away and we still haven't gotten a tree!"

Ferris looked at Mike for a few seconds, which confused him, and then reached out a hand to help Mike off of his bottom. Mike pulled his gloves off and took Ferris' hand. Ferris would have helped him up, but something stopped him and he pulled away quickly.

"What's the matter, Ferris?" asked Mike.

"Oh, nothing. Just a static shock, that's all. Now, come. I have something I want to show you."

Ferris grabbed Mike's wrist this time to bring him to his feet, and as Ferris was walking ahead with Mike following behind, he noticed the teeth sinking back into his palm again.

Why were the teeth there? After they had appeared and then disappeared last time, Mike's palms had suffered from horrible blisters and his mother had had to treat it with medicine.

Mike looked at his palm, where the skin was now burning bright red where the teeth had been. It was starting to puss…

"Ferris, fetch the Neosporin, won't you?" asked Mike. Ferris turned around to look at Mike.

"What's that matter, Master Michael?"

"I just have a sore spot on my hand. I think it was the gloves, or something…" Mike said. He had mumbled the last few words.

"I'll get it once we're inside," Ferris promised.

"Where are we going?" Mike asked.

"To the servants' quarters," Ferris answered.

…..

The building where Ferris and the other servants stayed was on the edge of Edric's land, looking out on an empty field. It was a tall, brick building with a small garden in front and a little porch with two rocking chairs. All in all, it looked like a comfortable place to live, and Mike couldn't help but smile.

"Come with me," said Ferris, leading Mike inside of the building. The entryway had wooden floors and paneled walls, and yet it wasn't boring. A billboard hung on the right-hand wall holding signs and notices, and there was a small parlor to the left. A plump, sweet looking woman sat in a chair in the parlor. She was reading a book that looked to be about as old as Ferris, and she smiled when she looked up.

"Well, hello, poppet! You must be Michael. You're Stella's son, aren't you?"

Mike nodded shyly.

"I've heard from the other workers that you're a sweet boy, and so modest," she continued. During her speech, she had shut her book and had walked over to Mike to meet him. She then looked at Ferris.

"Good afternoon, Ferris. Did you walk all the way here from the house without a jacket? Blimey, you look frozen to the core! Come in here to the kitchen, I'll warm you up," said the woman.

"No, no, Mrs. Peabody. I was just bringing young Michael upstairs to show him something… we'll be quite all right on our own, thank you."

Mrs. Peabody grinned anyway and ushered them on. "Well, then, don't stand there, you're getting the floor wet! I'll be down here if you need anything."

She bustled happily back into the parlor, where she picked up her book.

"Who is she?" asked Mike.

"She's the housekeeper for our quarters. She also takes care of your house when you're away."

"I see," said Mike. "So, what do you need to show me?"

"You'll see," said Ferris. "It's upstairs… you were talking about holidays, and I want to show you something from what I celebrate during this time of year."

"And what would that be?" asked Mike as they began up a set of simple stairs.

"Well, I'll give you a hint. I'm Jewish."

Mike was confused.

"Chewish? Like food? Isn't that illegal?"

Ferris laughed and shook his head. "No, Master Michael. _Jew_ish. Do you know what I celebrate when you celebrate Christmas?"

Mike still had nothing to say.

"I celebrate _Hanukkah_. It's my holiday. I don't celebrate Christmas, like you and your mother do."

"Hmm," said Mike. "That's interesting. So do you get a Hanukkah tree instead of a Christmas tree?"

"Well, that's exactly what I was going to show you," Ferris answered. "Here- this is my apartment. Come in, come in."

Mike entered and looked around. Ferris' room was old fashioned, but it wasn't bad. It was pretty spacious, with a beautiful Persian rug on the floor and some old white wallpaper that was beginning to peel away. There was a small bench next to a lamp that was used like a sofa, and a cheap radio on a table on the left side of the room. On the other side of the room was a cheap refrigerator and a stove, and in the corner a cot with a pillow and a duvet that Ferris must of slept on each night.

It was, all in all, not too shabby; however, it wasn't even as big as Mike's bedroom, and it was all of the space that Ferris had to live in.

Suddenly, something caught Mike's eye. In the center of the room, on a coffee table, was a gorgeous silver candelabrum that glinted in the lamplight.

"What's that?" asked Mike in wonder, surprised that the butler could possess something so beautiful.

"This," said Ferris, smiling, "is the _Menorah_. During Hanukkah, we light one candle for each of the eight days of the celebration."

Mike was agape with wonder. "So it's like having eight Christmases?"

Ferris chuckled. "A bit like that, yes."

The menorah shone in the light as Mike moved closer, his eyes wide with excitement. "Ferris," he said suddenly, "I'm concerned. If there are eight days of Hanukkah, why are there nine candles?"

"Ah," said Ferris. "You see that tall one in the middle? That's called the _Shamash_. It gives me light as I light the other candles."

"Why can't you just use another of the candles for light?"

"It's forbidden," replied Ferris.

Mike turned around and looked back at Ferris. "Did Mr. Baxton forbid it?"

Ferris laughed again, and Mike grew upset. Why did Ferris keep laughing at him?

"Your stepfather," said Ferris, "is not in charge of everything. He seems to think he is, but the final word is God's."

Suddenly, Ferris' eyes grew large, and he darted around towards the door. Mike looked at the door, too, but he didn't know why. Nobody was there.

"Don't tell your stepfather I said that," Ferris said nervously.

"Why not?" asked Mike. "Because you insulted him?"

"Shh!" said Ferris, and Mike could see anxiety present on his face. "Not a word, Master Michael."

"Okay, Ferris. I won't."

When the scared expression changed from frightened to sad, Mike asked Ferris what was wrong.

"Your father," said Ferris, and Mike interrupted him.

"My stepfather, you mean," he said.

"Pardon me, Master Michael. Your stepfather doesn't like religion. He's atheistic."

"Oh," said Mike, not exactly sure what Ferris was talking about. He leaned back on his palms. "Is that why Mr. Baxton doesn't like it when Mother asks him about Church and Sundays? Does he not like Sundays?"

"He doesn't like religious holidays, either," Ferris informed.

"Like what?"

"Like Christmas. He doesn't celebrate Christmas."

Mike's eyes widened and he leapt to his feet. "Mr. Baxton doesn't celebrate Christmas or _anything_? Please tell me that he celebrates Hanukkah!"

Ferris shook his head sadly.

Mike paused in realization. "If Mr. Baxton doesn't get to celebrate Christmas," said Mike, "then he won't let me, either!"

He sat down on the floor with a pout.

"If you want, Master Michael," said Ferris, "you are perfectly welcome to come join me for Hannukah."

Mike looked up at Ferris, the faintest trace of a smile reappearing on his young, thin face. "Really?"

"Of course."

…

The thought of Hanukkah with Ferris was a comforting thought throughout the next week as Christmas drew nearer. On Christmas Eve, Mike was invited back to the servants' quarters for the first day of Hanukkah. He let himself in and found Ferris sitting in the parlor with Mrs. Peabody and the gardener, Antonio. Ferris had explained that Antonio would be joining them, even though he wasn't working on Edric's estate at the time.

"Are you both Jewish?" Mike asked Mrs. Peabody and Antonio. They nodded, smiling.

There was food and a few games, and the night was quite enjoyable. Neither Edric nor Stella were aware that Mike was with Ferris- they had gone out for the night.

It was one of Mike's happiest times in awhile. As the night was nearing a close, Ferris approached Mike and spoke to him.

"I know, Master Michael, that you're upset over your loss of Christmas, but I want to help. Tomorrow _is _Christmas, after all, and though I don't give Christmas presents, I can make an exception now."

Ferris disappeared for a second into the kitchen, but was back in seconds holding a box. He held it out to Mike, and when he received it, he noticed something odd.

The box was _moving_.

"Look inside," said Ferris. Mike pulled off the lid, and glanced in. The next thing he knew, a small puppy had jumped into his arms and had started licking his face. Mike laughed and scratched its ears.

"This is for me?" Mike said, a little dazed by it.

"You seemed lonely with nobody to talk to but snowmen," Ferris pointed out. "I thought you could do with another friend. So, I got you this little guy."

Mike knelt down and scratched the puppy. "I'll name it Spot," he said. "What kind of dog is it?"

"A beagle," Ferris replied.

"Mr. Baxton would never allow it."

"You can keep him here. Mrs. Peabody will take care of him, won't she?"

Mrs. Peabody nodded happily.

"He's mine, then," said Mike. "Thank you, Ferris!"

And Mike wasn't just happy, he was _thrilled_, and it was as if everything had taken a new turn for the better.

**A/N: I've been working on this chapter with every chance I've gotten, but it's taken SOO LONNGGG. I've been busy, trying to get it up by Christmas. It's the 26****th**** now, but MERRY CHRISTMAS anyway!**


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